


honor him.

by valcaines



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Corvo Attano/Original Character, Corvo Attano/Original Character(s) - Freeform, Corvo/OC - Freeform, Corvo/You, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Fights, Hurt/Comfort, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Daud (Dishonored), Magic, Original Character(s), Pre-DOTO, Pre-Dishonored (Video Game), Pre-Dishonored 2 (Video Game), Reader-Insert, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tension, The Void, Whaler Reader, Whaler!Reader, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24312679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valcaines/pseuds/valcaines
Summary: as his assassin, you drowned in a sea of blood you spilled over the years.an Empress dying changed everything.now on a desperate hunt for redemption and honor, can you ever clean the blood of an Empire off your hands?[Corvo Attano x Reader]
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Reader, Corvo Attano/You, Daud (Dishonored)/Reader, Daud/Reader, Daud/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	1. wolf to man

**Author's Note:**

> the Dishonored universe entices me to the core, and so does Corvo Attano. 
> 
> I have been wanting to do a Whaler Reader / Corvo story for a while & hope this is not too bad. 
> 
> thank you for clicking & hope you enjoy the ride. any sort of feedback & comment is more than appreciated.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sword practice takes a turn as tensions rise under the gray skies of the Flooded District.

_Ego homini lupus._

Man is wolf to man. The dark, twisted, plague-ridden world you had to be a part of brought this brutal law of nature to the spotlight - in all of its twisted ways man could think of.

Sometimes it took form in letting swarms of rats crawl and devour a poor soul in a matter of minutes, only leaving the gut-wrenching sounds of human tissue getting chewed on while you watched and did not lift a single finger to rescue the man. It was just the way the world worked, the way the cogs turned and clicked. It had been a challenge to shut down your sense of pity and helpfulness as a good human being - when your entire life revolved around killing and letting it be killed, finding time for remorse did not come so easy between the death contracts. 

Often times it was a bloody blade twisting in yet another soul’s heart, tearing arteries and ribs apart. Traveling to the deepest, grittiest corners of the once-great city of Dunwall, slicing countless noble and Weeper throats for coin that would only be enough to barely get by, days and days of living on cold and ruthless rooftops to scout for missions had all shown you many horrors that your humankind could commit. In times of distress, of misery and sometimes, times when one succumbs to selfish intentions. 

This time, the simple combination of Latin words was showing its' gnarly thorns into killing an Empress.

The piercing sound of steel clashing steel echoed through the bricks and the damaged rooftops as it got mixed with the filtered huffs and groans thrown in the duel through the whaler masks. He pressed on with another attack, taking a quick forward step along with a low groan of effort as he threw out an expert dash that would have taken your dainty little beating heart out of your chest if you had not anticipated it, a little spark flying out as your trusted blade clashed against his yet again. 

The shadows in your hands became prominent, engulfing your fingers with the familiar warmth of smoke and magic until the sensation was blocked. The dark but enticing songs of the whales muted for the time being, powers taken away from you momentarily as the cool and cold surface of the steel felt harsh against your palms again. 

“Flesh and steel. The way I trained you,” the Knife of Dunwall sneered, almost reprimanding you, a familiar spark of adrenaline in his darkened eyes. 

A man of enigmas stood before you wielding a knife, but there was only one certain truth eminent on him - when Daud fought, it had been with the only intention of killing.

The man rose strong yet scarred from the slums when all odds were against him, killing to fight for his life, later for coin, for reputation and much to your gratefulness, to keep his underlings alive and fed and equipped. It had been easy to him, taking lives as he did not even bother for a split second to watch the light dim out in their eyes, blood washing over his leather overcoat and steel only to dry off till the next target appeared in his eyesight. Whoever saw the Knife in front of their mere mortal eyes, with his blade drawn and ready, begged to pay him tenfold whatever his patron paid, collapsed without a hint of pride left. 

Only this time, there was something else lurking in there, some sort of unknown. Uncertainty reflecting off of his irises as they met yours on the opposite sides of locked steel, neighbored by the reflection of the old and battered down Rudshore Financial buildings. Almost as if those dark eyes of his were looking for answers to questions you could not fathom, questions you did not dare ask yourself in the first place.

The shadow magic unavailable from your disposal for the time being, you fueled your pent up adrenaline into a violent push to break out of the agonizing lock, sending your Master’s blade slide off of yours with a screeching sound from the friction.

Taking a step back and catching your breath, the blade was flipped with years ease in your hands as you watched his movements - taking in every step, every little reflex, even the single movement of his fingers clasping the metal handle. The two of you moved in accustomed unison, albeit on opposite sides, like two wolves circling in the snow, waiting to bite each other’s throats off but only waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The Serkonan scanned your every movement with his rugged but dangerously handsome face - you knew he knew your next ten steps, what you wanted for dinner, and then some. His moves and tricks were no surprise to you either, after all, you had been by his right hand, under his wing for many painful years.

Locked in that tense moment, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and knuckles almost white from all that clutching, you lunged forward in a swift but graceful attack which got countered by none other than the blade master himself and a series of slashes, groans and sickening clangs began echoing in the air.

What had been an ordinary daily sword practice on the rooftops of the Flooded District had turned into the rather interesting sparring of the Knife of Dunwall against one of his most-trusted lieutenants. Whalers knelt and stood on surrounding buildings, some watching behind the brick remnants of destroyed walls, some choosing the more traditional approach and staying on the rooftops. Wherever the Whalers were, it did not matter - there was only one focal point, one spectacle to follow. 

“Is the old man trying to kill her or something?” the assassin clad in navy leather spoke in a surprised tone beneath the mask. “Always thought Daud had a soft spot for her - how did this happen?” 

The woman clad in red leather shrugged, with her arms crossed, eyes dead focused on the clinging blades further down below, following every moment and every flick of the leather-covered wrists. “Daud knows what he is doing,” she spoke, sounding fairly confident in contrast to the fact that, frankly, Billie Lurk did not have an inkling of an idea of what fueled the almost emotional duel she was witnessing.

Sure, it was common occurrence for Daud to try one of the assassins in a duel every now and then, but the magic running through her veins sourced by none other than her Master himself told another tale - he was desperate. As if he was looking for a way out, or for someone to reassure him. Someone to tell him that everything would fall into place in the end. A trapped soul he was, signals of doubt lingering in the ebbs and flows. 

The Daud she knew never crumbled against the unknown.

Panting mixed in with angry throes of war with the side of sickening metal clashes were all you could hear as your footwork did not let you down for the time being. 

By the time you could count the ways you fought against Daud, it would take you an entire trip around the Isles and maybe more. After all, he had been the one to pull you out from the gutter, from the decrepit, bloodfly-infested back alleys of the slums of Karnaca. Taught you how to slit your first throat in exchange for money. Sailed across the Isles and brought you to capital of the Empire, where he trained you relentlessly. Told you how to exploit the weaknesses of each and every victim. How to find the shady stuff under everyone’s name, even the cleanest, the most noble. How to stick a blade in one rich bastard in the Estate District to please another rich bastard somewhere else, long as gleaming coin went in your pouch at the end of the day. How to confront the most dangerous, most reckless and the most wanted of Dunwall - only equipped with one of his old swords he had stolen from the Grand Guard.

“Always go for the head,” he had always said as his leather-clad hands tutored yours, teaching you the ruthless ways of fighting. The feel of that calloused texture still fresh under your fingertips.

True to his advice, that was exactly what he did to send you reeling back in a loud groan - his undefeated blade knocking yours out of your grip in a sharp flick of his large hand, sending it sprawling against the old bricks and cement.

Your panting and aching body was then left without a solid defense, he seized the opportunity as well as any - the cold hard steel rested dangerously on your covered throat, the victorious master assassin’s larger frame close to yours as his dark eyes sparked in some sort of emotion you could not discern. Shivers running down your body, a lump in your throat so evident it made the blade angle as a defeated gulp passed through. 

It was as if the world had stopped. You wondered if this is what being summoned to the Void felt like - cold, uninviting, tiring, frightening, daunting. Unknown and unexplored. He had told you about his encounters with the black-eyed bastard once, years after when he first received the wretched mark on his left hand that seemed to haunt him in his nightmares to every single dawn. 

Now it seemed to be that Daud himself was recreating the Void for you, for all of the eyes to watch as the Whalers held their breaths. 

“You better not fight like this when we take the Empress,” Daud scolded you, his fierce eyes locked into yours even through the covers that your whaler mask provided. As his mouth uttered the last word, your entire body was begging you to give up, to collapse as your heart dropped. Your body under the heavy tactical gear stood as rigid as can be, though, even with a blade looming on your precious neck and all you could give to your mentor as an answer was a short nod. 

Was this one of those usual duels he would pick up with you just to show the other Whalers what failure could cost them? Beat you on purpose, take the shared powers away from you for the duration of the fight so that the others would train like they would die in the next hour? 

No - this had been a message for you. Every single footstep he took as he advanced on you, every little spark that flew into thin air as metal hit metal.

Much to your demise, the Knife of Dunwall knew you to your core. By the Void, he could piece together details about you that the old soul of the Outsider maybe did not even consider looking for. 

Daud knew this one contract, the biggest job his Whalers were asked to pull off would strike a nerve deep within you, hit a buried spot concealed within your emotions, your morals and memories. The same spot in him that was struck, that made him do a double-take on the grand scheme of things, what they implied. What this particular death implied.

It terrified him, as much as it terrified you. He knew the mere prospect of it, considering the looming deadline as you steadily approached into Month of Earth, shook you to the very core. It was natural instinct for you to read through his irises, but some experience to see the hesitance lay in them. 

“Understood, sir,” your throat gave out in a hoarse voice filtered through the mask, your head tilted upwards to his towering figure as he grew satisfied with the answer, loosening his grip on the blade slowly, then sheathing it to the holster on his belt with habituated ease. Your chest heaved with deep, lingering breaths as the remnants of the adrenaline emptied themselves in your veins, slowly dissipating after the sparring. The man in front of you tilted his muscular neck, as the mark on his left hand glowed orange ever-so-visible even through his thick gloves as he raised his palm lightly - making the familiar warmth of power surge through you once again, the return of the bond making you gasp lightly, finding some sort of much-needed comfort as you nodded your thanks. 

With yet one more stare thrown your way, his jaw clenched as his feet carried him across the rooftops away from your figure, walking in between his assassins, his loyal gang of misfits and killers alike. Taking this as a signal that practice for the day being was over, the Whalers began to vanish into the shadow one by one, leaving a more vast, open sight of the gray skies contrasting the beige-white ruins of what once used to be a booming financial hub. 

It was at that moment of defeat that your weakened body fell on the knees next to your sword, millions of possible scenarios filled with blood and screams running through your mind. Head leaning forward as you breathed in and out, in an attempt to calm yourself down. 

And it was at that moment when your heart and body and mind fell in unison - you could never spill the blood of an Empress, even if the man who swore to protect your life ordered you to. 


	2. red crosses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the thought of assassinating her troubles you and he needs to know.

This one would be different.

There was a reason everyone on the street fled for their dear lives at the sight of him, his blade reflecting his scar under the moonlight for all to see. They did not call him the Knife of Dunwall for nothing - his stone-cold heart and blood, dead-silent movements and ability to take lives like he was a reaper through wheat gave him the recognition. He had done this countless of times before, with and without the wretched mark on his left hand. Fulfilled contracts, asked for extra coin for his trouble without feeling an inch of remorse as he washed some noble’s blood off of his hands.

It was not common for him to hesitate, for him to reconsider any deal he made as an assassin. Ever since he came to the unforgiving streets of Dunwall, killing and taking heads for favors or some other ulterior motive had been the reason he was still alive. 

She had just been a contract, after all. Kill and get paid. In and out quick, without any survivors, just the way Daud had done things all along. 

Then why did his thoughts stall for a minute, every time he thought of the contract in his pocket that Burrows made him sign? Why did the mark on his hand cease to glow as he pictured the Empress and her little heir, governing the Isles the best they could inside the Dunwall Tower? 

As his darkened gray eyes looked over the damp streets and molding rooftops of the Flooded District, the whale songs echoing in his mind did not cease to remind him that the otherwise fortune of coin would never be worth Jessamine Kaldwin’s blood on his hands. He could never mute the screams of her daughter, ringing in his ears for years to come, if he were to take her life away in front of her juvenile eyes. 

It was only natural for an assassin of his caliber to let go of his feeling of guilt - at this age and experience, with all types of blood coating his leather-gloved hands, Daud was not even sure if there was enough heart left in him, maybe he was not even capable of feeling it anymore. Sure, some missions had been harder to forget than others, keeping him up at the night of, knowing he was serving only to some noble bastard’s needs and wants - the next day he would be back to business as usual as he cleaned his sword. 

With every step taken in the streets of the capitol of the Empire, every poster plastered on the brick walls, every bust and every painting and every monument after the Kaldwin name, he knew the memory of her death would hurt his skin like a burning fire.

“I can’t do it.” 

Words he wanted to say for a long time but never could were spoken out as the feminine voice echoed through his quarters. Words he never thought he would hear from you. There were very few people who were allowed to step into his chambers unannounced and uninvited - being one of those who had the privilege, you made your way up the stairs where he usually slept.

It was Daud’s day to be surprised, it seemed, as he turned around to be faced with your bare face, sans the vapor mask you usually sported around the compound. All those years working alongside the assassin had not changed your pure and simple beauty, he would think - you had still been the girl he had taken under his wing from Karnaca, with the ever-lasting talent for sword fighting and the burning fire in your eyes.

Somehow, you had managed to keep a piece of you whole inside despite the cruelties you have indicted upon others, emotions and traits that defined who you were as a human - something Daud wished he knew how to do better.

“Sit down,” the older assassin would say in his usually gruff voice, this time etched with a slight concern as he pulled a chair out for you, as he opted to sit down on a nearby shipping crate facing you. You obliged with a silent nod - the mere gesture itself suggested he had been thinking about the same thing but did not want to admit it.

He had to look strong for his assassins, after all. Just like he had been all these years as he trained them all. He had to be undefeated for you, so you would have someone to look up to, to follow after. To kill and die for.

The assassination of an Empress to send the Empire reeling into the hands of dirty conspirators was not exactly the example you wanted to follow.

“Daud...” you started with a solemn voice as you looked up to meet his eyes, his arms folded on his chest. It was at that moment he noticed the redness in your eyes - you had trouble sleeping last night, maybe had not slept at all. “I’ve been... thinking. About what would happen to us after tomorrow. What would happen to you.”

The assassin shifted ever so slightly on his feet as he adjusted his sitting position, leaning a bit closer to your frame on the chair, your arms crossed although not in a threatening stance. “Haven’t I taught you enough to know that I will not fail a contract?”

You knew. You knew too damn well. He would go to the ends of his means to execute, capture, neutralize - whatever cruel action he was getting paid for. The huge board downstairs in his office was adorned with portraits with red crosses, if anyone needed proof of just what the man could do. “This time, I’m worried about what will happen if you don’t fail.” 

Piercing orbs stared into his darker ones, able to spot the slight glimmer of doubt, of concern in them. Then they spotted the edge of the paper visible through his red leather overcoat. Daud ran a hand over his face, his mark glowing in the lightest shades of orange as he did so. A low sigh leaving his lips.

“The Empress will be dead tomorrow with the heir delivered to Burrows. Campbell and him can reap what they sow themselves - that’s none of our business. You understand me?” 

Daud tried so hard, and succeeded, to not show any signs of weakness as he spoke in a stern manner, the words only aimed to make you focus on the task at hand and not distract yourself with any and all consequences that may come their way. It was not your vendetta to fulfill - you had been merely an agent to greater means in the scheme. That was what Daud had been telling himself since the day he picked up that pen and signed at the offices of the Royal Spymaster.

“You remember how I ended up in the streets of Aventa to begin with?” 

Right after you uttered those words out of your lips, your tone noticeably softer yet your eyes glassy, was when he stopped. Jaw-clenched as vivid memories began roaming around his clouded mind like wolfhounds on loose. Memories that belonged to you, that you let him into a long time ago.

His usually domineering stance was slightly weakened as he took a deep breath, looking down on the rusty metal floor. This contract was proving to be one of the hardest things, if not the hardest, that he had to do during his entire life of sorrow and bloodshed - yet another decision loomed over in front of him. 

Did he have the luxury to put his most-trusted protégé and killer on the sidelines for the mission of their lives? 

If it had been anyone else but you, he would not. 

Emotions, history and ethics did not mix well with the line of work they were in and every seasoned assassin knew so - hence why most of his Whalers kept their families, old lives and stories to themselves, if they had any. But, you... he knew exactly where you were coming from. What you went through - he witnessed with his own bare eyes. How the fire in your eyes dimmed as you lost so much in your life. And how training with the assassins helped you win that spark of serving some purpose back in your orbs. 

He was going to stab a sword through an Empress the next day - if he indeed wanted to pursue his redemption, showing mercy and empathy to his favorite would be the start.

The man got up from his seat, determined, calmly walking over to the map of Dunwall Tower that was laid on over his bed - he must have been studying all possible strategies, playing out scenarios in his mind all night. Pointing to the furthest tower to the planned assault location, his tall frame partially turned to you. “You’re on watch duty tomorrow. No killing,” he ordered you, with a slight nod. 

Even when his emotions had been willingly suppressed to prepare himself for the upcoming battle, you read through his actions and words. A man like Daud did not help you out by hugging you every single time you had doubts and telling you everything would be okay. He instead gave you a way out, some much needed leeway, however temporary it may be. 

You accepted it with gratitude, sending him a faint smile accompanied by a nod as you got up from the chair. 

“Thank you,” you would add in a whisper, your gloved hand gently lingering on his leather-covered arm for a moment before you took a quick glance at the map you had memorized over the past month, your boots slowly carrying you towards the double doors of his quarters. 

Watching you leave with his stare softening, Daud ran his long fingers through his dark hair as your red-leather silhouette dissipated into thin air. 

Tomorrow, he was going to initiate the fall of an Empire into ashes in the hands of some traitor dogs. All he could hope for was for someone to forgive him, somehow, at some point in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be longer & more detailed, and hopefully we'll glimpse further into the reader's past! if you liked it thus far please leave some sort of feedback, it keeps me so motivated to write <3


	3. ready or not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an Empress is killed and a new era of constant guilt dawns upon you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you have been enjoying the writing so far! please let me know what you think & how I can improve! thank you for reading.
> 
> it will get much more exciting, I promise.

Gray tiles over the rooftops contrasted the clear blue beauty of the Dunwall skies on the 18th of the Month of Earth. The uneven skyline decorated with the light smoke rising from the numerous chimneys scattered around the peaks.

The Tower stood tall and pristine, overlooking the gloomy city. White blocks of stone reflecting the sunlight, light blue drapes, embellished with the Kaldwin family crest, swaying ever so slightly to the beautiful dance of the wind. Flowers flourishing across the vast gardens of the Tower, the waves of the river licking at the edges of the walls. 

It was an unusually beautiful day to be a royal. Years back, when you were fighting off stragglers and gang members in the streets of Karnaca, even dreaming about being this close to royalty had been out of question. You never had time for such useless fantasies when the reality had been proving to be nothing less than ruthless and cold. 

It was quite ironic - in contrast to the deeds your kin would commit, it was as if the Outsider had cursed you with sunshine and warmth to make you never forget the moments to come. 

_Commotion. A deafening, sickening sound of machinery turning in its cogs and screws, digging into your skull like daggers. Screams, thick boots thudding against the wooden floors, making the entire ground shake. Your younger feet descending the carpet-covered stairs of your apartment rapidly, heart about to burst out of your chest. The usual faint whale songs you would otherwise gladly welcome in your mind then subdued by the creaking music echoing through the narrow foyer - to be replaced with the cries of the one you loved the most._

Every single little detail about that night was still alive and burning in your mind, just like how the events of the present day would hurt your conscience for years to come. There you stood, up on the rooftops of the tower, leaning against one of the chimneys which concealed your red-leather clad figure, the higher up vantage point giving you an unobstructed view of the gazebo. 

So far, everything had been going according to the assault plan Daud had spent a couple of months perfecting - couple Whalers holding up the smaller edge closer to where the target stood, with Daud waiting alongside them for an easier transversal. The remaining Whalers all positions up on the roofs, blending into the navy blue tiles, some setting up lookouts on top of the water lock, and you staying on the lookout on the furthest end of the to ensure a safe escape route. There was no room for error, not even a single breath could be taken out of order. 

This was the mission that would change the Whalers, affect every single living piece of soul of the Empire and the blood would soon be all over your hands. Every one of your fellow assassins felt it inside - felt the balances and the energies shift in haste of what’s to come, some sort of dark hunch in all of their souls, yet no one could put it into words nor admit it. 

Many of those who noticed you merely guarding the furthest tower away from the gazebo, very much unlike the key roles you had in past contracts, did not dare confront you or Daud about it - they simply knew better than to be scolded by the master assassin to focus on the mission of their lives. Nothing escaped the sight nor the quick wit of Billie Lurk though, you remembered, as she appeared right near you, causing you to shift your position to face her. 

“What’d you do this time to make him mad?” she would ask in a tone you could not discern beneath the muffling of the vapor mask, combined with the ringing in your head with the added stress of the mission. 

That had caught you by slight surprise - although you were used to Lurk’s teasing intrusions and insights just about everything as you would train together and plan out how to approach missions, you had been silently hoping every Whaler to be so preoccupied about the job at hand as they should have been, that they would not pay attention to one assassin’s uncharacteristic task. You would only shrug at her, tilting your head slightly and letting out a muffled breath. “Just following the old man’s orders.” 

If only she knew. If only she knew the resolve it took for you not to crumble right there and then, how hard it had been for you to sound emotionless and nonchalant. 

She would change towards you, talk different and act different, you did not have a single doubt about that. Maybe she would look at you with pity, or she would remove all her trust from you for being such a weak soul unable to get anything done because you were so caught up in your memories.

Either way, revealing the truth was something you could not afford. 

The seasoned assassin shrugged with a simple mumble of “fair enough”. Billie knew better not to dive into personal details during high-risk missions, or during anything else - she had been an enigma of her own, ever since Daud had brought her in. You did not mind.

Her, you could look at. You could even sneak glances at the Empress’s silhouette with her famous up-do, her hands against the marble fences of the gazebo as she gazed over her city, unaware of her approaching demise. Hiram Burrows, the sick man behind this litany, talking to her with his hands clasped behind his back, with his crooked face and sneering attitude that spoke of no rainbows and sunshine.

But your covered orbs beneath the mask would not dare sneak a glance towards your master, who stood rigid as ever in his position minus the mask he adorned usually. He did not dare look at you either - after all, you had been two souls who knew this was wrong, so wrong, this entire mission was all sorts of wrong and _it must, under any circumstance, be stoppe-_

The loud thuds of the water lock bringing in a skiff echoed across the walls all of a sudden.

The hairs on your neck rose in response to the sheer suspense - according to the plan, no guests were expected to the Tower in the morning. The damn water-lock was supposed to be sealed towards any outside traffic from the river. That bastard Burrows himself had assured you no one would intervene when you landed on the gazebo after he was done briefing the Empress. Besides a few corrupt guards and maids, no other key staff to royalty was supposed to be on the premises. 

Billie’s alarmed stance found yours, no doubt having the same racing thoughts in her mind as you, whereas the stress of the unknown pawn in your mission made you finally manage to look at Daud. His jaw was clenched as he shook his head at you, sensing your gaze on him, his gloved hand held upwards in a closed fist as he signaled his small army to stand by till someone could identify who was coming. You could feel the nerves of the fellow assassins tightening - it was vital everything went according to the plan, word by word, minute by minute on a mission as impossible as this. The Whalers could not afford any last-minute unknowns into the equation, not this time. 

“Corvo! You’re back!” you hear the young girl exclaim in the happiest cute little voice you have ever heard as she ran towards the tall figure waiting to take her in his open arms.

No. No, no, _no_. 

He was not supposed to be here till the 20th. The Royal Protector being away was the main guarantee Daud had made sure when he was taking up the mission. This was not supposed to happen.

When this was all done, if you survived, you would give your heart and soul to the Outsider just to stab one of your sharpest blades into that crooked, scrawny throat of Burrows, for omitting this piece of information that changed everything. 

If there had been anyone who deserved to die that day, it would have been that sniveling bastard. But no, he just had to hire you to do his dirty work for him and his forsaken conspiracy. You knew one thing - he would not omit the supposed presence of Corvo unless he had something to gain from it. 

Just how he planned to use him in the grand scheme of things was still a mystery to you, one that made your blood go cold. 

Transversing closer to the edge of the roof with a clearer view of the lower tower entrance, something inside you was on the verge of breaking as you saw the Lord Protector hug little Emily, the child inviting him towards the back gardens for a quick game of hide and seek. 

Innocent and pure, the total opposite of the acts you would commit later on. Of the world the little girl would be thrown into after her mother has died - a world of corruption, hatred, fright and cruelty. 

Just like the one you had been thrown into without a choice, all those years ago. 

Jaw-clenched, you walked with a certain quick determination towards the chimney Lurk was still holed up near, overlooking the strike point yet her mask was focused on you. The way you approached with a certain rigidness and unease now even more evident in your movements and they certainly did not get unnoticed by the assassin. Your fists clenched as you held onto the tiles, crouching. Waiting, as well as you could, with your heart beating out of your chest. 

Just how many lives would be ruined that day? At that point, you had lost all hope in counting. How many would be stabbed and how much blood would be spilled all over the crisp white marble? Souls left to perish, so one more rich bastard with less than honorable motives could rise to the throne and throw the entire Empire to dust? 

The clock was ticking against your favor. The Lord Protector could already be seen making his way towards the gazebo, the little girl trailing just a couple steps in front. The crooked bastard Burrows lingering to exchange some words with him before he reached the Empress. 

All of these thoughts, these truthful yet dangerous ramblings in your mind making your ears ring, shots of adrenaline and some sort of determination started to coax through your veins. Something needed to be done, someone needed to stop this right then and there, before Daud sent the first wave of assassins in. Only the Outsider knew what would happen next if you did not intervene - after all, you personally could confirm no one was a match to Corvo in a duel, if the years hadn’t changed him. 

You needed to reach Daud and get him to call this entire thing off. Fast.

Suddenly, you caved into your morality as your hand lifted up, engulfed in darkness, and your body lunged forward quickly - only to be stopped by a forceful wind blasting you back, as you tumbled backwards with a muffled gasp escaping your mouth. The blast muting your fall as the sheer power in your hands ceased. Under the skies of Dunwall, the intimidating mask of Lurk was standing over you, shadows lurking around her gloved hand directed towards your frame. 

“This is meant to be. This one, you cannot change, Lieutenant,” she spoke, crouching to your level. The sickening clangs of swords mixed in with screams as your chest heaved with breaths. Daud had sent his first wave in.

_“We can only watch.”_

So you did. Each second passing adding another flame to the frustrated fire burning inside you, you got up with a quiet snarl, leaning against the stones with your sights set towards the gazebo. 

You could only watch when Daud slapped the Empress before wrapping his hands around her throat.

You could only watch as she fought him helplessly before the assassin put his blade through her weakened body.

You could only watch when Thomas grabbed the poor little Lady, with the Lord Protector disheveled and damaged on the floor. And you could only watch as Billie gave the signal to head back to base. 

It killed you.

It killed you to your core, made your bones go stone cold, your heart break into a million pieces into the Void. The droplets of royal blood leaking on the floors from Daud’s blade felt as if it had been your own blood spilled. It hurt as such. 

It was the Void’s parting gift to you that your master ordered to travel back to base before you could witness the corrupted bastards hold the helpless Royal Protector accountable as the one person he had sworn to protect died in his arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are. the breaking point. let me know what you think! any guesses to what the reader will do? 
> 
> thank you so much for reading <3 it is your feedback that keeps me motivated to continue this so I appreciate you!


	4. troubled souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there was none like her. he knew. a small flame of hope sparked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! please let me know what you think.
> 
> this was a little chapter to convey how much has changed in both you and Daud. it may look like a Daud/Reader fanfic for now but I promise, a lot of Corvo is coming as it is the main pairing. 
> 
> i'd love to read if you had any suggestions and feedback :) please, please enjoy!!!

Her face was everywhere.

On the sky filled with dark clouds looming over the cursed city, etched onto the leftover rays of sunshine. On the stone walls of buildings, in graffiti, her famous up-do and piercing eyes staring into your soul, or what was left of it, with either prayers or ugly slogans surrounding her silhouette. In your dreams, her screams as she reached for her daughter loud as ever in your ears. The way your master slapped the woman with such audacity, strangling her before the demise ensued. Her weakened, frail hands desperate to reach something as the blade gutted her, all in vivid detail, visiting you every single night at some point. The little girl screaming in the arms of your fellow assassin as she was brought to the hands of traitor dogs. Her short-lived reign had been on all mouths, noble and poor.

And perhaps the most prominent reminder of Jessamine Kaldwin was the giant, commandeering marble statue carved into the Commerce building, from which you sat across on a nearby rooftop.

It had been four months since she was taken from the Empire by your kin. Four months had passed, and yet you found yourself sitting in the same exact spot looking at her beautiful face meticulously molded into marble - overlooking the Flooded District with such authority, such power, such grace. Spending hours and hours, day and night between the small missions you took, between training sessions with him. Contemplating on if it had been possible at all to leave this vapor mask behind and try to restore order and peace in the Empire the best you could. 

It was not rare that you found yourself devising plans to save the Empire. To save her and honor her name. To find out where those bastards hid the little Lady Kaldwin. Maybe it had been your own way of apologizing, for taking the slightest part in this coup that opened a dark age of the history of the four Isles. It could have been your way of punishing yourself, to make yourself suffer even more because you had deserved it, constantly reminding yourself of what you had destroyed. Maybe the miserable thoughts in your head would transform themselves into feasible action as you stared onto her crown that was taken from her. 

It was proving to be nearly impossible to escape when you were doomed to face the consequences of your actions all around you, every single living hour.

More rats swarmed the crooked, decrepit corners of the city now that the order was gone. The compassion she had directed towards her beloved citizens had been replaced by tallboys mercilessly shooting fire onto the desperate and sick - the Regency did not care about the sick and infected, preferring to seal them into buildings and quarantine zones so they could wait for their approaching deaths. The elite of Dunwall only became richer and richer since all they had to do was support the oppressive reign of Burrows, and the poor simply died miserable deaths either from hunger or from the disease. Hope could have been the last thing on every single citizen’s mind as they tried to make their way into winter without leaving themselves and their family to starve. With other Isles barricading the borders to Gristol, in the rightful scares for the possible plague spread, the city that allowed a clean slate was edging on borderline destruction. 

Jessamine would have never allowed all this to happen to her beloved people. 

It changed you. Her death changed you, just like it reeled the Empire and the city of Dunwall to perish. Seeing what your band of ex-mercenaries, killers and assassins and their leader were capable of broke you inside. What the man you swore your life to protect and kill for had been capable of - it scared you to death. No one had been the same ever since then. Whalers still operated, took on minor contracts and simple kill-and-disappears to stay way under the radar. Still trained as vigorously as ever, yet there was this aura of an unspoken surrounding the compound. They knew their master and his lieutenant had been troubled ever since, after all, they had been trained to notice weaknesses and emotions by arguably the most seasoned teacher out in the Empire.

Sleep did not come so easy when you bathed in blood and guilt every night, the faces of the late Empress, her daughter and her Protector haunting you with every toss and turn. Knowing another innocent child was engulfed in a world full of terror and brutality, made you sick to your core, made you want to call all of this off and rescue her so she would not end up like you. 

You knew for a fact that Daud did not sleep either - it had been the new normal for you to wake up to his echoing groans, no doubt clutching onto the carved whalebone he kept close to his bed. 

How could he rest, after he witnessed how the city crumbled under his blade? When the honorable man who had nothing to do with any of these conspiratorial acts was to be executed in two months, when it should have been himself all along, rotting in Coldridge? 

It seemed like the Master Assassin shared the same faith with his protege, the bodies you stabbed and the sinful acts you have committed over the years haunting both of you. After her, after the Empress, a peaceful night’s sleep had been a luxury you had not gotten to enjoy. You probably never would.

After a group of Whalers led by him delivered the poor heiress to two of the crooked Pendleton brothers, four long months ago, he had come back to the hideout a changed man. His gray orbs the darkest ever perceived by you. Even more silent than you ever remembered him be. Reclusive, yet calm to everyone he encountered. Sealed himself to his office for days - you would spot him writing down on his journal with that messy yet bold handwriting of his, sometimes recording some audiographs the contents of which you could not overhear yet to that present day. Only took the jobs he had to - to make sure every Whaler mouth was fed, pouch filled and blade sharpened to see another day. Only talked to his closest and even that had not been the same. 

The ruthless killer who led a crimson track everywhere he went to had disappeared. Something had broken in him, just like your resolve had been broken the moment her death contract was signed. Like the barriers holding your past sealed off had crumbled. The man with a soft spot and a certain way of understanding people seemed to be resurfacing again through the cracks of the hitman, the man who took you under his wing and gave you a purpose, all those long years ago.

He had been showing you the slivers of that soft spot for years. So you only hoped that man would be compassionate enough to understand when you told him what you needed to do next - whenever you had gotten around it.

“Thought I would find you here.”

The hairs on your neck rose even before you heard the gruff words belonging to a voice approaching you with dead-silent movements from behind - one of the results of your decades-long training. The bolt you had been toying with in your nimble fingers prior to his arrival found its’ way back to your small pouch, then woken from your silent reflecting. 

Then, your leather-covered hands would take the mask off, emanating a sigh of relief into the thick air, tossing your hair back comfortably at last, as he crouched next to you with an unspoken ease in between. 

Daud could read you like a book, just like you could read him. You felt that he had been staring into the void marble eyes of the late Empress just like you had been earlier, with remorse and regret - one simple glance at his sharp face proved you right. It was not necessary for you to use words when communicating with him. You knew defeat in his eyes when you saw it, just like he saw through yours.

When he spoke, words flowed out of his lips with a slight rasp, and a certain grim tone, contradicting that cocky and ruthless voice you had gotten used to. “We got a new target. I want you to take him.”

Simple yet concise instructions as he had gotten your full attention. The mention of a new contract meant leaving the Flooded District, and by the Void - you needed to take a break from the wolves howling in your mind.

“Treavor Pendleton, in the Tower District. That gutless Lord Shaw wants him out of his way, some personal vendetta. Good pay,” he would continue, turning his head to face your gaze as he described the mission to you. “You might want to head over tomorrow - after the Parliament session. Take as much ammo as you need.”

The way he approached you with the mission at hand spoke volumes. To others, the Master Assassin would lay out the mission with all details covered and all possible scenarios calculated - he would engineer the assassination himself before sending his men to potential demise. To you, it was as if he was calculating the outcomes with you - giving you enough to start pondering, leave you to devise a plan of your own, putting the trust of his reputation and name under you. Counting on your unprecedented loyalty towards him.

The rules had been simple - when he gave you a mission and trusted you with it, you accepted it without hesitation. 

That was before she died in his hands. 

“I’ll get it done,” you nodded softly, with only a split second’s worth of hesitation, something only an expert killer would be able to catch. 

The older man would put a reassuring hand on your shoulder before getting up slowly, choosing to walk back to his quarters via the makeshift metal bridges instead of his usual transversal, the soft crinkling sounds of the metal under his weight fading away gradually. 

With yet another breathy sigh, you would look up to gaze into the empty, emotionless eyes of the marble Empress one more time. 

If the road to help save the little heiress was paved with more agony and blood, to you, it would be worth it. 

You just had to find a way to stay loyal to the man you pledged allegiance to while helping the Empire he had triggered the demise of. 


	5. second nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a simple assassination contract takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is another update! i have the entire story planned out to some extent so i hope this will turn out okay!
> 
> please please comment & let me know what you think. i sincerely hope you enjoy this. <3

This was where it all ended, but in many ways no one could fathom, where it all began. 

Dunwall Tower had been where reigns started and ended, whether legendary or calm. Where calculated coup attempts took place, some successful, some condemned to death. Where the law that governed the citizens all across the Empire was made, where nobles and aristocrats and the like raced their voices during court. The gardens of the vast Tower used to be open for the general public to visit and relax in, though they were sealed off again during the late Empress’s reign - you guessed it was the Royal Protector’s order, to ensure the Empress was protected against any impromtu attempts against her life and rule. 

Sadly, that had not been enough to keep the blade from killing her in the end, hence led to the new Lord Regent taking new precautions, many out of sheer paranoia, over the months. 

From the rooftop you were perched up on for the last couple hours, you had a front-row view of the new installments the Regent had added to the once gleaming tower. By the Void, you were sure the entire city of Dunwall could spot the creepy-looking, steel installment of a safe chamber on the rightmost wing of the tower, along with the numerous tallboys venturing around the entire premises to spot any intruders. Being one of the very limited number of people who knew the truth behind this grand coup, seeing those additional structures made you want to tear them all down with fire and smoke. It made your blood boil to see the man guilty of all this chaos stay safe in his high-up tower while the entire city, the city he seemingly ruled, bled from their eyes. 

So much had changed in the Tower District since the last time you were around. Witnessing the consequences of your actions first-hand as you roamed through the rooftops of Dunwall did nothing but deepen the crack in your pained soul. Under the purple and orange lights that the city’s pretty sunsets offered, the plague victims who sneezed and coughed and vomited in the back alleys proved to be a stark contrast. It was a city of opposites after all - across the river, a little further down the shore was a gentleman’s club, surprisingly accompanied by the close proximity of the Office of the High Overseer. A city where the poor wept under the doorsteps of the rich and noble. 

And yet there you were, tasked with the mission of ending another noble life.

This would not be your first aristocrat who tasted your blade, nor would it be the last by the looks of things. Before, during your days of following your master’s orders without failure or divergence, killing anyone had been easy. A very well-trained assassin like yourself did not even bother shutting their eyelids after your target was on the floor, gargling on their own blood. Never before did you have any doubts.

This certain Pendleton, brother however, would be different. Your fellow assassins had delivered the innocent and pure Lady Emily, only a little child, to his forsaken brothers a mere four months ago. Over the years, rumors had been spiraling around that the three Pendleton brothers,the very three banes of aristocracy, had not been getting along well - with Morgan and Custis siding off together to keep their mining business running, the number of people they have enslaved and tortured only known by the Outsider. The very same two brothers who knew the location of the little heiress.

Brothers would be brothers - they would fight, bicker and argue, but they shared secrets. You hoped Pendleton would not be so shy to let you know what he knew before you put a blade through him.

Roaming on the rooftops came as second nature to you, with so much time spent running from tacklers and stray gang members looking for their preys for the night. It was liberating, to feel the breeze ghost over your overcoat, with the muffled sounds of your stealth boots across the tiles. That night had not been different - despite the numerous plans and kill scenarios going on in your mind, it was a short-lived blessing to be able to sneak and transverse across the rooftops as the illuminated Parliament building loomed in front of you, overlooking a vast square encircled with apartment buildings - no doubt occupied by the affluent who had influence on the court. 

The previous adventures you had as a Whaler had brought you over to this part of town many times, so the horizontally stretched-out architecture with many ornate windows and well-kept white stone walls did not intimidate you like it had the first time. The long, red banners draped across the exterior, with none other than the Lord Regent’s silhouette pasted on them did, however. It should have been the light blue, golden-encrusted silk adorning the walls instead, their memory still fresh and aching from that wretched day when they stopped swaying in the wind. 

That beautiful blue, reminiscent of clear skies, was the fragment of your memory that kept you on the drive to reach the little Empress, somehow, sometime. 

Senses in your body were awakened as you crouched at the edge of a balcony, closer to the ground level but with a clear vantage point for the huge wooden doors. There exited two figures, their clothes and faces illuminated by the ever-blinding streetlights installed by the City Watch. The thinner, slightly taller one clad in finely-tailored ivory garments you could discern a mile away - your target. The muscular one clad in uniform on his side, however, you had yet to meet. Unknown pawns and intruders in any mission had been a huge risk, and you needed to see if you could get that nobleman alone. 

Other members of the Parliament, slowly yet surely, started walking out of the double doors, following the pair’s lead as they descended the stairs after the session ended.

Some would head to their homes to their wives and kids, some would head to bars to drink their woes away. Yet your attention was on the pair of men, who were headed towards a back alley, their body language rigid and somewhat eluding.

Like they had something to hide. Needed some place to talk privately. 

Behind the mask, you would raise your eyebrow in intrigue. What would Pendleton have to do with some uniform for them to head over to the back of an ale house to talk? Playing court politics was not exactly your particular area of expertise, you had been a foreigner to Gristol after all, but you knew this much - if it meant a secluded and hushed talk in a dark corner, it was more than just games played to win votes.

Making your way as you followed their movements albeit on the leverage that the roof provided, you spot them stopping near a row of wooden barrels, without a soul in sight while you loomed over to eavesdrop.

“So you think he will make it out? No one’s ever done that before, Admiral... this could either make or break us,” Pendleton spoke lowly, running a hand over his face in thought.

The supposed Admiral nodded, albeit hints of worry were etched in the slow movement. “He’s our only hope. We cannot go and save her ourselves - our reputation would tatter, and we need your nobility to work in our favor,” the man spoke in a gruff voice pensively, his arms crossed as he took a couple wandering steps around. His steps were calculated and had a certain rigidness to them, his tone of speech exuding authority - everything about him screamed some sort of military training background, which made him a little more dangerous to the mission for any normal assassin, but not for someone in your caliber. 

Pendleton would let out a sigh followed by a slight shrug, crossing his arms to match his companion. “We would need someone on the inside, someone to unlock his cell when the time is right. Martin would know who to bribe. The man has more connections than me and I am the noble one...” he would say, sounding somewhat willing to co-operate with the Admiral. 

As a professional assassin, you could care less what crime your victim was trying to plot next, let it be a near impossible one of infiltrating Coldridge. You just needed to get him alone, slit his throat and get paid -

“Good call. Though I give Corvo a one out of five chance of escaping, it is worth our efforts.”

The mention of his name stopped you dead in your tracks, your heart starting to beat faster and faster out of your chest. So that was who they were breaking out of prison, that explained the quick and straight to the point nature of the conversation as well - his life would cease in less than two months at the hands of the prison executioner. Every single plan needed to be made in utmost haste and total precision. 

Your mind then would drift to the Royal Protector, him in those noble clothes that were no doubt tattered by then, defending the Empress moments before her death, sending your assassin friends to their demise with his pistol.

The man who had nothing to do with this conspiracy, thrown on a dishonorable road, probably tortured every single day in that hole for a crime he did not commit. Who had everything taken away from him. If given the opportunity, you knew he would make it, you knew he would live - he had always been strong, so very strong to beat any opponent. 

It sparked a glimmer of hope inside you, knowing that there were men out there in high places, planning to restore the rightful order in the Empire and bring back the innocent.

It only was a big shame that you were sent to kill one of them.

Noticing the conversation ending for the time being with the Admiral parting his way from the noble, your trained senses came back into play as you furrowed your eyebrows in full concentration. Your mind worked at an impeccable pace, combinations of different plans and scenarios going in them as you settled on one. The eavesdropping had given you so much information, and you would be a fool not to use them to your advantage, so you took off your mask in a quick motion before strapping it onto your belt - you would not need to hide your identity for what you were about to do.

Following the Lord onto the street, you would see him walking into his apartment, hastily making your way to his bedroom balcony through your well-performed transversals. Like any other elite assassin, you took your time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike your target and fulfill your contract at once. There he was, without a clue of what was bound to come, of what was lurking in the shadows for him - with his back turned to you, his hands rummaging through his vast chestnut dresser in search of something. 

_Perfect._

With your hand on your trusted blade, your quick yet quiet feet thanks to your padded boots would carry you over through the richly-decorated master bedroom, to be positioned right behind him, sneaking up on him with such ease. A swift and expertly controlled movement later, you would feel his breath get caught in his bulging throat as your cold steel rested against his unshaven skin.

“One move and I start cutting.” 


	6. loose ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the terms of her contract were bent as new information came into light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god this was a lot to think of & write. hope you all enjoy! please please comment and let me know what you think :)

“One move and I start cutting.”

Breath held back in a sharp gasp, the quick palpitations of the heart beating out of the chest. A little hiss at the coldness of the blade against warmer skin. The salty droplets of cold sweat starting to form on their foreheads. Too afraid to take tentative steps to escape, threatened by the perfectly-measured, mastered amount of sheer pressure against their throats just enough to not break the barrier of flesh. 

If all the targets that fell dead under your blade had something in common, it would be their reactions when you prepared to deliver the final cut. 

Pendleton had been no different. The moment your cold steel met his skin, the nobleman knew better not to move his hands towards the blade he kept on the dresser. If an assassin had been that skilled to sneak in, not make a single living whiff of a sound and press a blade against him like that - he would not dare take a single breath. Though he had been surprised, you could tell by the way his head tilted ever so slightly to the right, to hear a woman’s voice wielding the killer weapon. You hoped he did not have a weak heart, since you were about to surprise him much, much more with what was to come.

The contract sent by Lord Shaw to the one and only Knife of Dunwall stated that Lord Treavor Pendleton was to be eliminated, with a handsome reward of shiny five thousand coin. Most nobles you had been ordered to kill, that you have interacted with at some level, had been slimy and shady, thinking their money and their power would solve every single problem they encountered - even the slightest inconveniences. Most of the times, they did. That night was not going to be one of those times. 

“Take a seat over at that chair,” your strong voice would demand while your empty, gloved hand would reach out to grab onto the back of his fancy overcoat tightly, the agonizing touch of the blade loosening ever so slightly against his throat to give him room to walk. “Start walking.”

It was as if you could sense the cowardice of his soul seeping through his expensive garments, the man’s breathing became ragged with droplets of cold sweat racing down his jaw as you followed him around the bed towards the wooden chair, nudging him. Only when he sat down without resisting you could you take a good look at his face - terror, his slicked back black hair emanating a couple of loose strands out of sweat, his eyes big and full of fear. Some glints of surprise in the orbs, as he took a good look upwards at his captor, who happened to be a sight for sore eyes.

Standing in front of your captive with nothing but determination in your eyes, your extended hand would hold the steel dangerously close to his bulging, sweaty throat part covered by that high-collar neckline he wore. An occasional night breeze would toy with your hair as the fading remnants of sunlight hit your features. 

“W-what do you want? I swear, I can give you money, so much money and power-” the man would start rambling, in a trembling voice as one of his legs started shaking ever-so-slightly. 

“Someone wants you dead and gone, Pendleton,” your voice dipped in control echoed in the vast bedroom, as you would lean in lightly. “I have to admit - I did too. I would love to stick a blade in your little throat and watch you squirm. After all, you’re just another noble out of the bunch, aren’t you?”

Pendleton gulped, the pleading look in his eyes back again. “Please...”

Tilting your head slightly, you would lean in even further, the blade staying horizontally against his flesh, restricting all movement. “But on my way here, I came across a very interesting sight. It isn’t exactly the wisest decision to conspire near the Regent’s Parliament, huh?” 

If someone’s eyes could widen to cover half their face, Treavor’s eyes at that moment would. Oh, this was bad. Not only would this woman gut him alive and leave him to the plague rats to feast on, she had heard their plans too. The entire Pendleton family name, if someone had found out about his intent to restore the rightful heir, would perish to no avail. The mere thought made him quiver under her hands.

“I know a great deal,” you started, your voice thickening as your orbs bore fire into his, your face inches away from his terrified one. 

“Emily Kaldwin. I want to know where she is, Treavor. And before you start saying you don’t know anything,” the blade pressed against his throat firmer, causing him to writhe under you. “I know those choffers you call siblings have her, so I suggest you co-operate with me here.”

It was almost as if the eminent fear of dying had awakened something inside of the coward, when his eyes lit up for a second, looking into your eyes with a newfound tone in them. 

“That information comes at a price.”

To that, you could not help but let out a chuckle, shaking your head at his utter and hopeless naivety. You were being paid top coin to kill this man - was he not aware of the fact that you could skin him alive right that second? 

“You bastard. I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands now, are you?” you would ask, the edge of the blade leaving a small cut underneath his jaw, couple drops of blood coating your shiny metal. A loud hiss would emanate from the man underneath you, yet he managed to look into your eyes with all the courage he could muster.

“I can do better than that. You help us get the Royal Protector out of Coldridge, I will get out of sight and out of mind, disappear into the Void itself.”

It was your turn to show surprise as he made you the most unexpected offer. It was as if all those made-up rescue scenarios you made in your head, playing different turns of events for four long months were coming to life. Could you trust this man? Was he loyal to the Empire as he claimed to be? 

“I can just torture you to death right here and you would be begging to spill information to me,” you spoke, your tone evident. 

It seemed like the man did not have a choice but to trust you. He knew damn well what you had been capable of, the itching and burning fresh cut on his jawline would always be a reminder of that. Bribing guards had been too risky - no one could pinpoint what those dimwits could do. If you hadn’t had good intentions for the heiress either, you would have started torturing him on the spot, but instead you leaned towards the more merciful path. 

“Lady, you could have killed me the moment you stepped in my chambers. You need me alive. The Empire needs nobles who are still loyal to the Kaldwin reign, and you know it.”

Never before had you been this intimidated by a target. You had been sent to stick a blade through this man, what in the Void did you think you were doing, trying to cut some crazy deal with him for a suicide mission, all the while sparing him? It felt like losing control - you did not like losing control. Jaw clenched and fire burning in your eyes, it was time you took it back.

“I’ll do it,” the words spilled out of your mouth without little hesitation. “Tell me where Lady Emily is.” 

Pendleton could only let out a little grin, blinking, not expecting to recruit that easily into the conspiracy. “My brothers frequent the finest bathhouse in the Isles.” 

Getting the hint, your eyes would glimmer with determination and you would nod sharply to the man, before you extracted your blade back into the holster and made your fist meet his jaw. Sending him reeling back to tumble on the hardwood with a groan. 

Out of the corner of your eye, a small glint of metal caught your attention, positioned neatly on the chestnut dresser against the wooden-paneled wall. You had done this man the favor of his lifetime by not letting him go victim to your blade - maybe it would not hurt him too much if you scavenged a little something. 

A Kaldwin cameo, you would recognize as you walked towards it, the mere sight of it making you clench your jaw. Without giving it a second thought, you grabbed the shiny object, slipping it into your pouch.   
  
“If I hear your name around anytime soon, I will come and slice your head off,” your threatening voice echoed as you perched up on the window, looking at a disheveled Pendleton leaning against the wall.

His fingers tracing the burning cut, he could only look as you jumped out of the window towards the rooftops.

* * *

The return back to your base, the wretched place you had learned to call a home alongside him, had not been as easy as it had always been after your previous targets, who were no doubt swarming the Void already. 

“The choices you make”, he would tell you, “always matter to someone, somewhere.” 

Letting Pendleton disappear alive and unharmed, to realize the plans he had been discussing with the Admiral was a decision that would impact you and those around you tremendously. It would mark the start of your involvement with the conspiracy, founded to bandage the wounds your master had impaled under orders.   
  
As you approached the riverside neighboring the non-functioning but ever-so-tall Greaves Refinery in the skiff of a smuggler you had paid to get across Wrenhaven, the dawn of the approaching crossroads sulked on your mind. The mission ahead of you irking you to an extent you never felt before, knowing there was so much more at stake than just life and death. In many ways, the future of an Empire depended on whether you succeeded. The burden it had already put on your shoulders was beginning to drag you down, cloud your mind with reason and equally with judgment. 

Was aiding Corvo in any way treason to your master? The same master who stuck a blade into the woman he was hired to protect? The former Royal Protector was an unknown, a mystery - even if he did manage to get out in one piece, which was very unlikely given the nature of the busted hole he was in, there was no telling what he would do. Would the man be so full of revenge that he would start killing every person he set his sights onto? Cause havoc in the cursed city that has taken everything away from him? 

No. The Corvo you knew all those years ago would not. You prayed to the dark-eyed god that all that pain and misery had not changed him too much.

Slowly making your way through your territory, the route to Central Rudshore gave you the opportunity to reflect, your reflection gazing at you through the chest-high waters. The more you thought, the more your heart and your mind slipped into unison. You had seen Daud, once a bloodthirsty killer without emotion, crumble and suffer with the regret that his last assassination brought onto his aching soul. You knew he would take it back, take everything back to the start, give back all the coin and put a blade into that small man Burrows if he had the chance to. 

He ached to do something _right_ , something for the good of the Empire, and so did you. In your heart and mind, aiding Corvo Attano get his honor back was the right thing to do. Even when you served the man who led to his misery in the first place - you would do your part in a hopeful quest to restore the rightful heir, for as long as you could, all the while keeping your Master from harm’s way. 

It was that deep hollow in your stomach letting you know that you only could for so long. 

Mask on, couple of your fellow Whalers would greet you inside the Commerce Building as you approached his double doors. For the moment, all you could do, all you could hope for was for the noble to listen to your carefully-spoken word and leave the area for however long it needed to take so that rich bastard Lord Shaw would not notice you deliberately failing the contract. You only could hope the payment reached Daud safely and soundly - the last thing you wanted to do was to give him even the slightest hint of suspicion. 

Taking your mask off the moment you stepped inside his quarters, you would find the Master Assassin lighting up a cigar, holding it in between his leather-clad fingers as his head would rise in your walking figure, your blade holstered and mask in hand. His steel blues glinting in relief for a split second to see one of his best Whalers coming back in one piece, his head would tilt ever so slightly to the left, eager to listen.

“Pendleton’s eliminated,” your voice would not falter, in all due technicality, it had not been a lie. Daud would catch your dishonesty even if you were far away in the damned Void itself. There was no use trying the Old Knife. 

The assassin would nod, taking a long drag off of his cigar as his other hand scribbled something illegible onto his ledger, guessing it had been the bounty off of the contract. Taking steps closer to his office space, you would notice the fresh cards he readied near his audiograph - you had an inkling of an idea of what they would be about. Lately, his thoughts were about one thing and one thing only.

“I need you to lay low for a while,” the master assassin would start with his usually gruff voice, this time a little hint of care etched onto his words. “Pendleton was a man with connections, and I don’t want anyone tracing back to us. People in the Parliament will notice his sudden absence. Get a little rest, you earned it.”

Your features neutral with a hint of a smile on your lips, you would nod graciously. The Whalers had been laying low for a while, ever since it all came down. His request from you did not intrigue you too much.

“As you wish, Master,” would spill out of your mouth as your fingers gave him a salute, which he would return with a nod your way before you vanished into the shadows. 

Daud knew they could not keep hiding and running like this - trouble was headed their way whether they liked it or not. Whatever demise that was coming his way, he knew he deserved it. 

“Not yet,” he would mumble to himself as he exhaled the thick smoke.


	7. new hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a day before your mission, you pay the little girl a visit.

The longer you spent roaming the cold and ruthless streets of Dunwall, the more you found yourself longing for the relaxing ease and seeping warmth of your hometown. 

The contaminated waters of the Wrenhaven River, squirming with countless hagfish eager to bite, along with the fair share of river krusts finding their nests below docks could simply not compare to the vast, shiny ocean at the Edge of the World. 

It had been a long, long time since you sailed from the city that smelled of fresh fish and exotic spices, to a city of corruption and bloody money, trusting a killer-for-hire to keep you company. Yet, as you boarded the smuggler's ship from the dockyards all those years ago, you did not dare look back to the gardens you used to run in, the beautiful Conservatory you used to marvel at, nor the unforgiving cobblestone streets you had been thrown onto.

Leaving Karnaca behind had been an ache in your sore heart for the years that followed - you had been a foreigner in a world of nobles and pure Gristol-born lineages, while your heart beat to the gentle rhythm of Serkonan mandolins. 

With all the flaws it possessed, all the rats that hid in every corner of the paved streets and all the stuck-up rich aristocrats it housed - the cursed city of Dunwall had become close to a second home to you.

It had to, sooner or later, after having you roam through every gritty corner of it with a blade in your hand. Trouble could find you at any given time of the day, every step of the way yet there was this certain excitement of sneaking around that said trouble and feeling clever about it - making your way across chimneys and rooftops, jumping from balconies and ledges alike, finding shortcuts through noble homes without even alerting a soul of your shadowy presence. It enthralled you, gave you a sense of purpose, with the additional strength your gifted power running through your veins donned you.

Before, you had fought to survive.

To see another day, living on the run, sleeping near dumpsters and moth-eaten mattresses that someone had thrown out. Breaking and entering the vast, breeze-filled apartments of the Aventa district, overlooking the endless ocean that the Jewel of the South had to offer - apartments that once you resided in before fate loomed upon you. Picking up fights with stray Guards in back alleys just so you could loot some coin off of them in the aftermath. How sure you had been that you would win the duels that you initiated recklessly. And win you did, most of them to say the least.

It still ran shivers of sheer disappointment down your spine when images of that one duel you had lost flooded into your mind, blade crossing blade as amber eyes locked into yours.

They were all in the past now, fragments of memories soaring in the Void, visiting you with their reminding thorns at night. Times long gone, yet never forgotten. In the aftermath of endless winds of change over the years spent running and cutting, killing had become merely a job to you - they were contracts to execute, after all, signed by your Master to whom you had pledged allegiance. That was what you had taught yourself. Going out on missions and finishing off targets meant you and your friend’s pouches would be full. It was an attuned trait among assassins to let all thought and emotion slide, and just focus on the task that could cost them way more than the distaste of emotion. 

Lately, you had found out that you could only suppress those emotions for so long. Guilt and buried feelings found their way to resurface, to re-capture that essence of humanity left in your trained body and soul. A constant hollow surrounding your being - and there was only one thing that could fill the void. 

In front of you, the famous round glass rooftops of the Golden Cat loomed tall, the pretty architecture of the building undeniable amid the inhabited, unkempt apartments that surrounded the bathhouse. Little rays of light gleamed in mesmerizing reflections, a welcome mix of purple, blue and gray in a world of browns and crimson reds. The supposedly finest establishment of the Isles that housed an heiress, whom you longed to help with all that you had to give. 

The moment you found out that the young Lady was kept captive at a renown bathhouse, which had been the fancier word for brothel that nobles loved to use - your blood had gone cold. In the harsh reality across the Isles, it was a known necessity that many children matured early on, learning to steal as a means of providing and wielding a blade as early on as their little hands could hold onto it.

No children was supposed to see the horrors of the world. Pure and innocent souls, they were supposed to laugh, tell stories and draw about the creatures of the endless ocean - leave the ugliness and sadness over to the older. To grow up showered wit love and care and all the attention, not with their mother’s crimson blood. 

Even if it meant sacrificing your own blood and bone, you were going to make sure another child did not have to see what you had seen - long as you had the power to change things, you swore to yourself that you would.

She was the future of an Empire, a promising leak of bright sunshine through rocks, the sole rightful heiress among a litany of unqualified tyrannical weasels. The only hope for the continuation of the shortened Kaldwin reign, whose rulers longed for the welfare of their beloved citizens - thrown onto a dirty road that she did not deserve to be on. 

Whatever that was left of your heart ached for sweet Emily who had lost everything that made up her life, left with no one there to protect, to guide her throughout. It stung a sharp pain through you, merely thinking about the horrors she had to witness down in the Cat.

By the Outsider, if you saw the slightest trace of harm on the little girl, you were prepared to spill the blood of the entire cursed building. 

That little part of your soul which had some sort of faith thanked the soaring leviathan that one of the courtesans had owed you a favor - indebted to you after you had saved her sister from the dirty hands of a corrupt, disgusting bastard in some back alley near the distillery, a long time ago. The very few good deeds you had done over the years of being a paid assassin seemed to be helping you back out when you needed it the most - and there you stood, after a series of sneaky transversals and climbing, right across the VIP entrance, with the door conveniently left unlocked in anticipation of your arrival. She really did live up to the task - the mere thought of her risking months of missed pay, especially under the infamous new Madame, putting a soft smile of gratitude on your features.

It felt good to know that the Empire still had people who were loyal to their word - unlike you, who had purposefully failed a contract you had been paid to execute. Knowing your true loyalty laid with Daud and the Empire he operated under, provided little to no solace from your constant self-criticism and state of guilt. 

Closing the metal door behind your step with the faintest of clicks, your hands would hastily peel off your mask only for it to be hung low on your belt - the last thing you needed when you visited the little Lady was for her to see another one of those masked figures who kidnapped her, who fought and attacked her Protector. All you wanted to do, with every fiber of your being right there and then, was to ease her suffering at least a little bit, not increase it.

Sneaking came easy to you. Hidden in the shadows cast upon the crumbling magenta wallpapers of the establishment, you would make your way towards the wooden set of stairs out in the back, the stench of sin mixed with cheap perfume lingering around with each step. Ascending yourself to the crevices close to the rounded ceilings to navigate, the moans and feminine laughs echoed off of the thick curtains and the wooden panels of various rooms scattered around the pleasure house.

It was not often you came around to the Cat - occasionally there would be some loyal client with a bounty on his head that you had come to claim, so you had a pretty decent idea of the layout. The curtains though, those had been new additions that were saving your bottom from getting spotted as you kept on executing your transversals with accustomed ease. Courtesans, dressed in skirts and bustiers that left nothing to modesty roamed the halls, often with a cigarette in their nimble hands. Most of them had been thrown on this path without having any other choice - in a way, you sympathized and understood, could only fathom the trauma they had been put through by the revolting guards of the City Watch and aristocrats like.

Speaking of aristocrats, you had half a mind to find those sniveling Pendleton bastards first, who were no doubt violating yet more poor women, and dirty your blade with their disloyal blood. Nothing would please you more at that moment than to inflict the same pain they have caused on the little child.

Yet, you had to be patient. There would come a time to take them out, sooner rather than later hopefully, and only then, you would take pleasure in getting rid of those gutless men. For now, you had a future Empress to see.

Leaning over the far wall you had dropped down near, the lined doors across the empty hallway was a surprising yet welcome sight. Powers granted to you by your Arcane Bond enabled you to spot living forms through your gaze - one that came in very handy as you spotted the gleaming yellow silhouette of a small child. Deep within, you knew your Master could sense whenever powers originating from his mark were used, and it created a twinge of guilt in you - secretly running off of base to conduct missions of your own, but all guilt was erased momentarily as you opened the door with a slight creak and came across her.

The future Empress of the Isles, ruler of the four countries with dire troubles, destined to govern over millions of citizens - and she was sitting cross-legged with her back to you on the hardwood, painting with colorful crayons that shed some rainbow into this dark place. The white bow decorating her brown locks, her finely-tailored white garments still her only choice of clothing. Just like how you had last seen her, yet so very different.

Noticing the creak of the door, Lady Emily turned to face you, her golden brown eyes widening as she spotted your unfamiliar figure. In a matter of seconds that had passed approaching her, you did not even realize you had been holding your breath ever since you stepped in - letting it out slowly, your fingers pushed the door to a close. A warm, harmless expression on your face as you lifted a gentle hand, indicating you meant no maim. 

The little girl's expression changed into a slight look of fear and confusion, eyes darting over to the door in a means of escaping.

"Who are you?" her voice would give out, laced with some sort of intrigue mixed with her initial fear.

To that, you would raise both of your hands, and very lightly, bow your head in a swift motion of respect. Your loyalty to the Empire and the rightful reign had been something newfound - all your life, you had longed for something to stay loyal to, whether it was a man or a cause. This time, it had been the girl right in front of you and what she stood for. 

"I mean no harm. I - " you would stutter, orbs widening only slightly as you pondered an answer to that question. That simple yet weighted question sparked storms in your mind, sending waves of guilt to tremble your heart in its place. What could you tell her? The truth - that you were nothing short of a reckless killer who had been right there when her mother's blood was spilled? Who could only watch but not do anything to save her, to save the Empire? Whose actions, albeit indirectly, condemned her Protector to prison and death?

"I am a friend to the Lord Protector." 

Now, among all lies you had told in your lifetime of stealing and killing, this one had to be the most desperate. 

"Oh," the little Empress would say, the apprehension on her features lessening yet she took another step back. Smart girl. She had been taught well, not to trust strangers who donned the very same crimson uniform that had taken her mother away from her.

Sensing your taller stance was scaring her more than to it gave her comfort, you would crouch down to her level slowly, daring to take a little step forward as a gentle smile spread your lips. Gloved fingers reached your pouch with slow movements, intending not to scare her, taking out the silver-encrusted wooden cameo. 

"Lady Emily," your voice gave out, softer than anyone in the Empire had heard you speak. "Forgive me for scaring you. You don't know me, but all I wanted to do was to give you this." As the words dripped out of your parted lips, your hand would extend the artifact towards the little figure, as if crossing the invisible chasm with the pull of her mother's silver-modeled face. Something inside you broke as you watched the Lady, take tentative steps towards you as her eyes fixated on the cameo only, and you could swear you saw her eyes glisten for a second. Her hands would reach out and clasp onto the cameo representing her lineage, candlelight reflecting off of the both of you as she held it to her heart. 

"Thank you," you would hear her say in her sweet voice, words lowly spoken, her lips curling up ever-so-slightly in a ghost of a smile of appreciation. 

The remorse on your delicate face coupled with an unknown emotion seeping through your being, you would nod softly, returning her faith smile. You would realize, only there and then, that if bringing Corvo out of prison was the last thing you would do on the wretched Earth, you would gladly die if it meant for this little girl to be happy. You had been involved in a plot that took everything from her, everything and everyone she held dear - the debts of the guilt would never wash off completely, but if the road led to putting her back on the throne with her Royal Protector guiding her, it was worth taking.

"Everything will be alright, Empress. I promise you."

The whispered sweet nothing echoed as she watched you leave with a gaze full of confusion and sadness, hearing the door click yet once more only for her to be left alone with her memories that were much too dark for a child her age. 

It was the ache in your heart and your old soul that prayed to the eyeless god, prayed that you could succeed in your suicide mission - only to see her smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait!!! 
> 
> really wanted to continue this story, I have this entire thing planned out - it is just a matter of finding time to write, I hope you understand. sincerely hope this chapter turned out alright. thank you for reading this far! please let me know what you think, your feedback makes me want to write more and more. 
> 
> much love <3


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